Eight: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival

The next morning, my body felt like it’d been put through the grinder. Flushing qi through the muscles helped to ease the discomfort, enough to get me out of bed anyway. There are necessary necessities needing to be addressed!

Afterward, with my business in the bushes done, I gritted my teeth and hobbled around the Glen like an old man. The morning routine was torture, even after adapting it for my incredibly sore body. I shuddered to think what state I’d be in without Ikfael’s Blessing boosting my recovery rates.

The hard work paid off though. Both Constitution and Agility now had nines in parentheses next to them.

I played with my magical skills but didn’t learn anything new about them. I saved some mana and qi for later though, so that I’d have full tanks for my evening practice session.

One thing I discovered was that Skill-Sensei also taught Archery. Specifically, he taught drawing the bow. I already had a solid understanding of the fundamentals, but the skill provided good reminders of the necessary steps.

After lunch, I braided rope for a couple of hours, and once my fingers were as sore as the rest of me, I took a break to explore the Stealth skill. Inside were memories of me playing hide and seek with my brother Miguel, hunting in the woods with my grandfather, and every ninja movie from the 80s and 90s I’d watched.

“Hey, System-Eight. Can’t we just purge those memories?” I’d loved the movies at the time, but they were just so bad.

Fortunately, most of the memories were from hunting: building blinds, walking softly, paying attention to how the wind blew, watching prey with mild eyes, and, of course, blending my heart with the land.

Underneath these memories was a nugget of understanding: that different animals perceived the world in different ways, and to be hidden was to either cloud that perception or remove yourself from it—or both.

There were no runes or feelings, just that kernel of wisdom. Skill-Sensei was a tough teacher. Fortunately, I’d done a lot of hunting. My 6 in Forest Survival meant I wasn’t starting from scratch when trying to improve Stealth.

I looked at the large pile of bark still left to be processed into cordage and decided that it was a perfectly reasonable time to practice the skill. I wasn’t shirking my responsibilities. Nope, not at all. And while I was at it, I’d look for more turkey feathers. I needed to replace the arrows I’d left behind during the spirit journey.

I grabbed my spear, bow, and two of the stilettos. The remaining arrows, I threaded through a loop of cord attached to my belt. It felt awkward—I must’ve looked like a cross-country skier without the skis—but I didn’t want to leave without all my weapons. My only disappointment was that I couldn’t find an easy way to bring the third stiletto.

Huh, is the otter’s impulse to hoard contagious?

I backtracked toward the moose calf’s remains, mindful of the sight lines as I walked. There wasn’t much underbrush in this part of the forest. The only places to hide were behind trees, so I went from trunk to trunk, like a checker across a checkerboard.

There were vultures circling above, just like the last time I’d been here. Is it the monster turkeys hunting more prey? I pressed ahead, but kept careful watch.

The forest was quiet, except for the chirp of a squirrel nearby and the sound of my chain links jingling against each other. The ground was soft with leaf clutter and pine needles, so I stopped to thread some of the needles between my armor’s rings. That helped muffle the sound.

I strung my bow and headed toward where the vultures circled. In between the trees, I saw a baboon, low to the ground, sneaking forward. His fur was ratty, and he moved with a hitch in his steps. All his focus was on his prey, which was hidden from view by a clump of bushes.

The memory of being chased by a baboon was still fresh, and I gulped. He didn’t know I was here, so I could sneak away with him none the wiser. Or I could find my courage and wait out the hunt. If he was stalking a turkey, I’d have plenty of feathers after he finished. Even if it wasn’t a turkey, I’d still likely gain in some way from his leftovers.

Why was I working so hard, if not for moments like this?

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and crept after him. A thick-branched hemlock tree screened me from view. I laid my spear on the ground, nocked an arrow, and brushed a branch aside to check on the baboon’s progress.

I nearly fell on my ass in surprise.

His prey wasn’t a turkey. It was a girl, maybe nine or ten, hunched over the moose calf’s bones, examining them. I couldn’t run now. I had to help somehow.

The only thing going for me was that the baboon was focused on the girl and paid no attention to what was behind him. It was a lesson I’d need to remember too: don’t become so engrossed that you don’t look behind you.

So I turned around, and saw another child—a boy of about five. His hair was dark and cropped short, and his clothes were simple but clean. He could very easily be the girl’s younger brother. I caught him sneaking up on me.

His expression didn’t change when I spotted him. He just stood still and waited to see what I’d do, which was nothing. There were more urgent matters to attend than a game of hide and seek or whatever it was they were playing. I gestured for the boy to be quiet and turned around to line up my shot.

The baboon hid behind a tree only ten yards from the girl. It had to be now.

I stepped out from behind the hemlock’s branches and drew the bow. My heart pounded, and the qi surged within me. The feeling triggered a thought, and I quickly infused nature mana and qi into the arrow. When the shot felt right, I released. The arrow flew, and I immediately reached for the other arrow for the next shot.

The baboon took the arrow in the back. It—no, there was a certainty inside me that the creature was male—his face distorted. He screamed, piercing the air with his pain.

All hell broke loose.

The baboon turned to see where the arrow came from, and the girl turned around too, but instead of running away, she ran toward the baboon. I’d just released the second arrow and grabbed my spear when—horrified—I saw her skin split apart. A swamp-green beak surrounded by ruffles emerged, and then the creature latched onto the baboon’s back.

My thinking brain hiccupped, not understanding what I was seeing, but some part of me must’ve recognized the danger. It spun me around to see a second beak—the brother’s—lunging at me. I dodged to the side and scrambled to put the tree between us.

The creature chased me, and I grabbed my spear up and attacked. My thrust was all instinct and none of Skill-Sensei’s lessons, but there was no time for anything else. The spearhead scraped across the creature’s beak and landed in the ruffled area. Its hide was tough though, so the spear didn’t penetrate, but there was enough purchase to push the creature away.

I lined up another thrust and remembered to enchant my spear. Well, the reality was messier than that. Everything was a panic, and I was fighting for my life against a Little Shop of Horrors monster disguised as a young boy. I just dumped qi and nature mana, letting the energies pour into the spear and flooding into the haft’s channels.

This time, the spear left a gash on the creature’s beak. The little plant horror spun to bite at it in a frenzy. The attacks scored the spear’s haft, but it didn’t snap.

I let my left hand go to grab one of the stilettos, while my right hand held onto the spear. I pulled the creature off balance enough for it to fall, but it didn’t give up the spear.

I stabbed my stiletto into its eye, but the feeling was all wrong, like there wasn’t anything substantial inside. The head was a dummy, a husk filled with nothing but fiber.

I drew the other stiletto and drove it into the horror’s back. It spasmed but kept attacking. I heard a crack from my spear. The creature’s beak was in the way, though, so I couldn’t check the haft for damage. The creature refused to let go, no matter how hard I pulled.

Damn! I knew I should’ve brought the third stiletto.

We played tug of war, but the creature became weaker over time. The more it struggled, the more the stiletto in its back tore up its insides. The head may have been a dummy, but there seemed to be real organs inside the torso.

The creature didn’t give up the spear and continued to ravage it even as it got weaker and weaker. Even after it died, I had to pry the spear free from its beak. I grabbed my stilettos and ducked under the tree’s branches to hide. The sister was still out there.

The baboon hadn’t been as lucky as me. He was dead, and the sister-horror was headed my way to investigate the disturbance. The creature looked like a girl once more, the terrifying beak hidden inside its body.

I knew I should retreat—the creature was far enough away that I could—but if I did, it’d attack someone else. Why else would these little plant horrors pretend to be children if not to prey on people? The disguise was to lure them into complacency, just like the brother had with me.

That wasn’t something I could let stand.

The sister searched the area around my tree, and I softened my breathing and my gaze. I hugged the trunk hoping my slight body would blend with it. And if it had otherworldly senses, then maybe my life force would blend with the tree too. If it had a sense of smell though, I was doomed. I stank to high heaven—not just of grime and sweat, but also bitter fear.

The sister found its sibling’s carcass and knelt. I heard a swick, as its body split and the beak emerged. The beak opened and clacked closed, then opened and clacked closed again as the creature sucked in gulpfuls of air. Oh damn, it was scenting after all.

How much magic had I infused into the spear? I’d done it in a panic, and I had to calm down so I could accurately gauge the state of my reservoirs. I took a breath and risked closing my eyes. A quarter tank full of mana—about four points—and no qi.

So that was about three minutes on the initial enchantment, but how much time had passed? It felt like ages, but might’ve been only seconds. No, that couldn’t be: time had passed for the fight, to collect my weapons and hide, and for the sister to walk over to examine the boy-horror’s body.

I couldn’t risk the spear breaking—it was a miracle it hadn’t already—and I enchanted the spear with what was left of my mana and eased myself away from the tree trunk. The time to attack was now.

The sister wore a long dress, tied around the waist with a leather belt. None of it was real though. I’d noticed from the brother’s carcass—the clothes were camouflage just like everything else, nothing more than colored plant fibers.

There might’ve been magic involved too. Once the brother was dead, his disguise wasn’t as good as before. Maybe some kind of mind shenanigans? The idea creeped me the hell out and made me want to kill the sister even more.

The sister was bigger than the brother though, and would likely be a tougher fight. It stood just outside the tree’s skirt, and with a swick, the beak retracted. A hand lifted to part the branches. The movement was hesitant, almost shy. My skin crawled watching—it looked so real—but I was ready.

I’d relaxed the death grip on my spear and moved my hands to where they belonged on the haft. My left foot was forward, and my center was low. Then I lowered it some more—the first strike had to be as powerful as I could make it.

There wasn’t any feedback from Skill-Sensei. My alignment was off, but there was no time to diagnose where or what. The creature moved as if to pass through the branches, and I took a deep breath and—THRUST.

The spear shot forward with my body weight behind it. The sister was fast and responded with a swick, the beak deflecting the spearhead. I brought the spear back in line and retreated.

The sister followed me under the tree, and I thrust the moment the creature tangled with the branches. Its beak snapped wildly to deflect the attack again. I realized it was a bad idea to be hemmed in with it and ducked out the other side. I circled around the tree to keep the plant horror in view. It must not have noticed, because it exited where I had.

I caught the creature unaware with an attack from the side. The spearhead penetrated its arm and pinned it to its torso. I felt like I was forcing a needle through leather, but I pushed with all my strength to drive it off its feet. The creature fell, beak snapping at the spear, but it couldn’t reach.

The spear was firmly lodged in its torso, and I realized I could use the point of connection to control its body. I pushed it like a mop into the trunk of a cedar. Something gave, and suddenly the spear penetrated with a squelch.

Green sap ran, and the creature’s legs flailed. Its torso flopped urgently, and it struggled against the spear, its beak snapping open and shut. It bucked, trying to dislodge the spear from my hands, but I held on and used what weight I had to keep it in place until its thrashing slowed and eventually came to a stop. The creature’s body went limp. I’d… killed it.

I fell back, exhausted, and then remembered my lesson from the devil vines and got back up to check my surroundings. There weren’t any more enemies around, but I didn’t relax. Not yet. Not the right time to rest.

I wiped the sweat from my palms to pull the spear free. A moment later, I fell on my butt when the haft split in two with a crack. The enchantments had worn off, and the accumulated damage was too much. Goosebumps crawled up and down my arms. If it had cracked thirty seconds earlier, I’d likely be dead.

Like the brother, the sister’s face no longer looked as real. The plant inside was swamp green with variegated yellow frills surrounding a beak designed for shearing and gulping. Truly, it was a horror.

The victory had been hard won, but I was too tired to raise my arms in triumph. I’d celebrate later. In the meantime, I limped in a circle to cool down and keep an eye on the area. It took a while for the adrenaline shakes to calm and for me to catch my breath.

I walked over to the baboon and took a closer look. His fur was gray at the edges, and his face and shoulders were covered in old scars. The sister had carved a piece of his torso out, and his guts spilled out onto the ground.

My arrow in his shoulder hadn’t penetrated far. It might not even have slowed him. The distraction was what had gotten him: turning his back on the sister-horror.

The draw weight on my bow was thirty pounds. I’d thought it would be good enough to take down small to medium-sized creatures as long as I could hit them in a vulnerable spot. It hadn’t been though—not with the baboon and not with the buck. Yes, I’d made a great shot on the buck, but the arrow hadn’t penetrated enough to bleed him out. I’d realized that when I skinned him. No, it was Ikfael that killed him.

Do I need to invest silverlight in my gear, after all? No, I had enchanted the arrow but neglected the bow; and that might’ve made the difference. It would’ve smoothed the draw and release, and ensured more of the potential energy made it into the arrow’s flight.

Would that have been enough? I wasn’t sure.

I’d made a great little bow, but I’d need something heavier to safely punch through hide and muscle. Something in the fifty-to-sixty-pound range, at the least. Which would be impossible to draw with my current Strength. My guess was that forty pounds would be the limit. Anything more and the bow shake would throw off my shots.

So I do need a magic, leveled-up bow. Unless I limit its role to small game, distractions, and softening up targets? I’m going to have to think about that.

I’d missed with the second arrow, and it lay in the distance. I had rushed the shot and released before my form steadied. I retrieved the arrow, while continuing to reflect on the encounter.

The spear was a godsend, as the extra reach had kept me alive. The stilettos had worked better than expected too. It was a good idea to carry them as back-up weapons. I should practice with them. Might even pick up a dagger or short blade skill that way

What else could I learn from the encounter?

My mind blanked in response. I’d put my unease aside during the fight, but the horror of being forced to kill something that looked like a kid rose up within me. Was it just my bad luck that they were a girl and boy, and that they were about the same age difference as Alex and Daniel?

I felt my control slip. The calm I’d been carefully cultivating collapsed, and tears leaked out the edges of my eyes. My breathing got rough.

There was a reason I’d never watched movies or played video games about kids in danger. Being a dad meant facing every day in mortal terror that something was going to happen to your wife or kids. I’d seen the terror become real, after all. All one needed to do was ask Collin Bradford’s dad about what it was like to lose a child to a serial killer. Or look at the MRIs of the cancer that had overwhelmed Helen.

“Enough, Ollie. Enough. These weren’t kids… just some monsters messing with your head.” I wiped the tears away and forced myself to take deep breaths.

Right. I was reflecting on the encounter. What else? What else had I learned?

Low-hanging branches could be used as blinds. I also needed to always keep an eye on my backtrail. And… uh… if I was up in a tree, the plant creatures would’ve been easy game, unable to get me. That wouldn’t have helped with the baboon though, not with those arms. He could’ve climbed right up.

My breathing settled down, but I continued to walk until the emotional storm passed.

I was the one transported to another world. My kids were safe back home, and while their futures were uncertain, that was true of everyone. At least they didn’t have to worry about monsters. Not the real ones, anyway. Just the ones who—

“Really, Ollie, that’s enough. Focus on the here and now. The kids are grown up. We’ve had this fight before. They’ll manage.”

I focused on the carcasses in front of me. The baboon’s meat was tough and stringy, and the little plant horrors… well, eating them was unthinkable. Just unthinkable.

I was angry, though, and in the mood for petty revenge. I cut through the sister’s plant flesh with the recovered spearhead. The stink inside was awful, like garbage left in the sun, but that didn’t stop me. I hacked past her beak, cracked the bamboo-like stalks that served as her skeleton, and rooted around inside for her monster core. I found the pea-sized marble at the center of a pulpy, whitish mass.

I broke the core and waited for the grains of darklight to dissolve, dissipating in the air like smoke.

The brother stank just as bad. Thankfully, I felt the heat of my anger drain with every hack of the spearhead.

By the time I was done with the baboon, the anger was gone, and all that was left was emptiness. I found his core under his heart.

Nothing happened afterward—no level up or skill gains either—so I heaved a sigh and washed my hands in the dirt. The plant creatures’ stink clung to them. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so vicious digging for the cores.

There was still my original quest to find more turkey feathers, so I put some distance between me and the carcasses. Under a young pine with low-hanging branches, I scooted underneath to hide and rest. I kept my eyes and ears open, but tried not to think about anything.

I failed. Miserably.

The one bright spot was the realization that I now knew why the town guard had driven me off. I must’ve looked just like a little plant horror, especially since I’d been a dead-faced thrall of Meliune’s Blessing at the time.

All I had to do was show the guard that I wasn’t a devil-spawn, man-eating, plant creature next time, and… and what? I’d be an eight-year-old orphan in a medieval town, ignorant of the language, customs, and common sense.

Most pre-modern societies constantly needed extra labor, so I doubted I’d be thrown away. Perhaps I’d be sent to a workhouse or given to a farmer to help in their fields? Or maybe I could wrangle an apprenticeship with a woodworker or cooper?

I had a lifetime of skills to offer, but without knowing the local language, it’d be difficult to demonstrate or explain. Worse, depending on the attitude of the people toward the different and unusual, I might be mistaken for an evil spirit in a child’s body or something like that—speaking an alien language as I did and possessing knowledge beyond my age. My former world’s history was full of stories of people who had burned at the stake for less.

I’d have to pretend to be deaf and mute, at least until I picked up the language. Then I could run away and start over somewhere else. That didn’t sound very appealing, but it was better than being out here in the wild, wasn’t it? Prey to anything with a stinger, claws, or beak.

Something to think about anyway; it was much better than me missing my kids. In the meantime, I turned southwest toward the hill where I’d last seen the turkeys.

The footing was slippery with pebbles, so I went from outcropping to outcropping to minimize the noise of stones rolling downhill. The area was dotted with boulders too. I avoided them in case they weren’t as stable as they looked.

About halfway up, I spotted a couple of turkey feathers, the brown ones. The ground around them was disturbed, and there was a smear of blood leading uphill. Not interested in facing any creature willing to attack the turkeys, I grabbed the feathers and turned back toward the direction of the Glen. If I found more feathers along the way, fantastic. If not, I’d be on my way home.

I was halfway across the hillside when a cool breeze rustled my hair. It was a hot and humid day, which made me wonder where the cool air was coming from. I spotted a small rocky entrance leading into the hill above me. It seemed just big enough to squeeze through. I hiked up for a closer look and didn’t hear or smell anything out of place.

I poked my head inside. The entrance opened into a small space, about three feet by four feet, with a tunnel sloping down on the other side. My body blocked most of the light, but enough slipped past me to illuminate the walls: limestone. The rest, including the tunnel, was shrouded in darkness.

The breeze indicated a cave system. How deep did it go?

“Nope, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to go poking where I don’t belong.” I pulled my head clear, only to slip on the loose pebbles.

I fell hard, one leg jutting out and the other bending under me. There was a crack, and I froze. Alarmed, I quickly checked along my limbs, but nothing was broken. No, the crack was the sound of a stiletto’s scabbard splitting; a dab of blood stained my lower pant leg where the weapon’s point had stabbed into the fleshy part of my calf.

My stomach sank. I would’ve almost preferred a broken bone. The stiletto was filthy from being used on the little plant horrors. I’d cleaned the blade with dirt, but that wouldn’t be enough to stave off infection. I’d better get back to the Glen ASAP and ask Dr. Otter for help. Hopefully she’s back.

And so my shirt finally met its end. It had been bound to happen, given the number of rips and tears. I just finished the job by tearing the sleeves off to use them as bandages.

I pulled the stiletto out of my leg and immediately wrapped the wound, the cloth dyeing red with blood. I’d gained some mana and qi from resting after the fight, and I infused them into my calf. Hopefully, they’d jump start the healing process.

My Status confirmed I was in trouble:

Strangely, I didn’t feel any pain until I was on my way back to the Glen. Prior to that, the skin around the wound was numb. The worms’ spikes previously had an anesthetic effect. Maybe it was still active? Something about the material from which it was made? I’d think about that later, once I was sure my leg would be fine.

Come on. Please let Ikfael be home. Infections are no joke in a world without antibiotics.